Philosophical Transactions
by katiedid44
Summary: Short one-shot. Sequel. A peek at the lives of Charlotte and William Collins a few years after Pride and Prejudice ends and what Mr. Collins has been getting up to.


William Collins turned out to be a rather good father. He did not mind answering the same questions over and over, or even those esoteric questions that only small children can ask. And he somehow managed to provide to his children clear and concise answers, to the astonishment of all. Charlotte had briefly thought of trying build on this and get him to shorten his sermons, and make them a bit livelier, until several parishioners told her they appreciated the opportunity for a nap before heading home to prepare Sunday dinner.

She stood looking out the window of her parlour. He was with their eldest, Catherine, in the garden. He held a drawing in one hand, and waved the other animatedly, apparently explaining his new garden layout to their four year old. Their two year old, Lottie, was determinedly chasing a disinterested hen. Charlotte smiled and turned towards the door as she heard a knock and then saw a maid enter. The girl smiled, bobbed a curtsey and said, "The mail has arrived, Mrs. Collins. Would you like I should leave it with you?"

"Yes, Alice, on my desk. Thank you."

Charlotte turned back to the window; she could no longer see her family. Sighing, she went to her desk and sorted through the mail. _Another letter from -shire. Whoever could Mr. Collins be writing to there?_ she wondered. He had received a number of letters from this correspondent over the years, but he had never spoken about it and she could come up with no way to ask him about it. Seeing that the letter was his only mail, Charlotte decided to leave it in his study for him.

Mr. Collins's study was in serious disarray. This was unusual for he was normally very particular about its state. Lady Catherine had long ago told him that a parson could not write nor conduct business in a messy study and expect to be of any use to his parishioners. And of course, he had agreed with her. So he had become fastidious about keeping it tidy, even to the point of forbidding his children from entering the room. But now, Charlotte saw that there were papers everywhere, some in small piles and some scattered haphazardly across the furniture. Knowing she shouldn't linger, her curiosity got the better of her and she had a look at the papers on Mr. Collins's desk. There she found what appeared to be a most lengthy sermon, until she read the title:

 _Thoughts on the Nature of Crop Rotation in a Kitchen Garden and the Interesting Possibilities Available with the Addition of Chicken Guano. Also Thoughts on Using Compost in the Kitchen Garden, Wherein is the Exploration of the Addition of Chicken Guano to the Aforementioned Compost._

Charlotte was taken aback. Mr. Collins had written a paper? How? When? She looked about his desk for more information. There were what appeared to be several charts and graphs showing any number of unintelligible findings and seemed related to the paper. She was most astonished. Her husband, William Collins, was a Natural Philosopher? That could not be right. Her husband was a grave, humorless and frequently foolish man who happily played sycophant to the unbearable Lady Catherine, not a man of letters. But she could not discount the evidence in front of her. Scanning his desk for more information, she found a previous letter from his correspondent in -shire dated three weeks prior. Charlotte looked around. She was alone. She picked up the letter and read it.

Then she had a seat.

And then she pinched herself.

To her (continued) astonishment it was from another parson. Mr. H.J.S Smythe-Hughes Warrington in -shire, was a Church of England minister, a member of the Royal Society, and a correspondent of her husband's. He also was exploring the possibilities of crop rotation in kitchen gardens and was very excited by possibilities inherent in her husband's additional work with the chicken shit. It was of the chicken shit that the gentleman had written. He wanted to submit Mr. Collins's paper to the Royal Society for review and (potential) publication in their journal, _Philosophical Transactions_. Apparently there was a disagreement between them over whether the results of Mr. Collins's guano research were sufficient for review and, as Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington insisted, publication in the _Phil Trans_. Charlotte reread the letter attempting to dispel her disbelief of her husband's capabilities. Just as she was beginning to peruse the paper, she heard her family enter the house. Hastily she returned the letter and papers she had been holding to their respective places on the desk and bustled out of the room just in time to meet them coming from the kitchen. She joined her family in its afternoon activities, but knew she would need time in the evening to ponder all she had learned.

That night as Charlotte lay abed, she realized that her husband's actions were understandable and suddenly made sense. Well not everything, she conceded, was understandable, or made sense, but it did explain a few things. Like his tagging after Rosings' steward every winter as the man worked out the Spring planting. And whenever the Darcys would visit, there her husband would be, asking his seemingly inane questions to a clearly perplexed and uncomfortable Mr. Darcy. Charlotte chuckled; she recalled how Mr. Darcy practically ran from her husband during their last visit. Oh what questions Mr. Collins must have put to him...and without any context, she was certain. But of course his questions had to be without context, for who would believe that _he_ was working on anything of import?

She felt suddenly ashamed of herself for laughing at her husband and not being a supportive wife to him. Charlotte decided then and there that she would help Mr. Collins get his paper published in that journal. She would write to Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington in the morning and see what needed to be done to get his paper to the Royal Society. Happy with her plan of action, Charlotte drifted off to sleep with the non-dulcet snores of her husband wafting in her ears.

All through breakfast, Charlotte was impatient for her family to finish eating and be on their way. But to her consternation, they seemed to be in no hurry to get on with their day. "Mr. Collins, where are you and the girls off to today? Have you any exciting plans for the morning?"

Mr. Collins paused, fork halfway towards his mouth, as he considered the question. "Well, my dear, we plan to visit your chickens."

"My chickens? How exciting!" she said to her daughters, who were seated beside them.

"Yes, and afterwards we might visit the chickens at Rosings' home farm."

"Indeed," replied Charlotte. "Such a busy morning. Do not be too long if you go to Rosings. You know Lottie gets very irritable when she is tired."

Mr. Collins agreed to mind the time and take care. Charlotte casually noted the hour and a small panic ensued. Mr. Collins hated being late! Fifteen minutes later saw the door close behind them, to her great relief.

In a flash Charlotte was in Mr. Collins' study and rooting among his papers for the letter from Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington. She found the letter and also the one he had received the day before. Pausing to listen for any unexpected family moving about in the hall, she also picked up his paper and several charts and graphs and made her way to her study.

Pleased with having made it to her parlour uninterrupted, she sat at her writing desk and reached for a fresh sheet of paper and her pen. Dipping the nib in her inkwell, she paused, pen above paper in a moment of indecision. What if this was not what her husband wanted? What if Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington had rescinded his offer? She put her pen down and read the most recent letter.

No, it was quite clear, based on Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington's response, that her husband _did_ want his paper reviewed and Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington did, still, believe it worthy of inclusion into the next edition of the Philosophical Transactions. Breathing a sigh of relief, Charlotte again dipped her pen in the inkwell and began:

 _Dear Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington,_

 _I am the wife of Mr. William Collins. I found his paper on crop rotation, along with your letters urging him to have it reviewed by the Royal Society. I do not know if Mr. Collins' paper is worthy of review, or even publication, but I do know my husband..._

A whole month and three weeks went by without any word from Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington. Just as she was about to give up and declare the whole enterprise a folly, a letter addressed to her arrived.

 _Dear Mrs. Collins,_

 _I am happy to be the bearer of good news! Mr. C's paper was reviewed by the fellows at the RS and it was agreed that your husband is on to something!_

 _Madam, mere thanks is insufficient for your intervention into this affair. For if you had not, a work of great import would have been lost to time!_

 _A package should arrive in the next few weeks._

 _Yours, etc_

Charlotte was stunned. Her husband _had_ written something worthwhile. _How astonishing!_ She looked at the missive again. _A package? A package of what_ , she wondered. Sadly there was no further information. She would simply have to wait for it to arrive.

It arrived while Charlotte was out. She had taken the children to play at a neighbor's and returned to find her husband standing stock still in his study holding a bound volume in his hands.

"Mr. Collins, is anything the matter?" she asked with no small amount of concern.

"I do not understand," he replied.

"Do not understand what?"

"How this could have happ-" he saw Charlotte's look of incomprehension. "I wrote a paper about my garden and mentioned it to a friend in -shire. He thought there was merit to it, but I was unsure. Then I received a package this morning, containing this volume and a letter from my friend. Apparently my paper was presented by him to the Royal Society in London and...and it was deemed worthy of publication in their journal. I am all astonishment, my dear. I have always dreamed that... but I never dared to hope...and now... now..."

"Your work has been recognized and published," Charlotte finished for him.

"Yes," he said, happily. "Only, I have no idea how my friend could have gotten a copy."

Charlotte cleared her throat. "I believe I can answer that."

"You can?" She nodded. "Do tell, my dear, do tell," he said staring at her.

Charlotte blushed. "You received a letter a few months ago from a Mr. Smythe-Hughes Warrington of -shire. I went to leave it in your study and found your paper, and an earlier letter of his begging you to have the paper reviewed. He seemed to think that you were on to," she waved her hands. "Something. I know you, Mr. Collins, and I know how much work you put into that garden. I thought, if he was right, and you _had_ written something of importance, how nice it would be for you to have it recognized by such an esteemed body as the Royal Society. So I sent him your paper along with a note. After several weeks, I heard from him. He was very excited about your work and said something would be coming in the post. And I see that something has arrived this morning. Are you very angry with me?"

"Angry?" he asked. "No, no, Charlotte. Not angry. I... I am ecstatic!" he cried. He pulled his wife into his arms and kissed her lips and cheeks and nose and lips again. Charlotte laughed as his mouth settled upon hers. This meant the resulting kiss was deeper than any previously in their marriage. Their mouths seemed to like it for they did not change their altitude, and after a time, they discovered how to deepen the kiss further, instilling it with a passion neither was aware existed. He pulled his wife closer to him and she wrapped her arms around his neck. When they broke the kiss some time later, they were flushed and warm.

"Come my dear Charlotte, let us continue our conversation upstairs, in our chamber," he whispered as he tugged her towards the door.

"But Mr. Collins it is only half ten in the morning. It would be-"

"Would you not call me William, my dear? After all, we are going upstairs."

Charlotte blushed. "William... Is it not-"

"Listen. Charlotte, the house is quiet, and I wish to go upstairs." He paused. "There is nothing that says we cannot go up at half ten in the morning."

"The house is empty?" He nodded. "Why are we still in your study?" Mr. Collins laughed and together they ran up to their chambers.

As they made love for the first time in their marriage, William Collins told his wife over and over how seeing his paper published was the best present he ever received. And for the first time in her marriage, Charlotte Collins finally understand what her dear friend, Mrs. Darcy, had meant when she spoke of the benefits of morning naps.

Mr. Collins, pleased to have pleased his wife, made it a point of pride thereafter to please her regularly. And when Lady Catherine commented on the increased colour in their visages, he attributed it to having two very active little children. The lady naturally disapproved of active children, little or otherwise, and lectured them accordingly, but, for once, neither Collins listened.

Thirty-nine weeks and twelve and a half hours later Mr. Collins was presented with his long awaited heir. Speechless with joy and gratitude, he held his small son close to him and gently kissed Charlotte as she lay in their bed. When he began to rise from the bed, Charlotte placed her hand on his arm and stayed his movement. "Where are you going?"

"I thought we could become better acquainted in the chair by the fire while you rest. Is that agreeable with you, my dear?"

Charlotte indicated that it was and smiled at the pair walking away from her before she succumbed to much needed sleep. As they sat by the fire father spoke to son about their lives in Kent, their anticipated life in Hertfordshire, and crop rotation and chicken guano. As tiny Lewis yawned and lost the fight to remain awake, his father chuckled and agreed to table their talk for the time being.

William Collins sat by the fire, holding his little, sleeping son. He was soothed by the gentle sleeping noises of his wife and son and the crackle of the burning logs in the fireplace. He thought of his life before his visit to Hertfordshire and of his life after. He spent some time conversing with his god and offering up his profound, and profuse, thanks for the safe delivery of the baby and for Charlotte's continued good health.

After a time, things became very clear. He stroked his son's check and whispered, "I was so wrong, Lewis. The best present I ever received was not having my paper published. It was your mother agreeing to marry me."

At this, little Lewis opened his eyes and gifted his father with a toothless grin as he sighed. Mr. Collins smiled in return and felt such a depth of love for this tiny baby, until he realized his arm was wet.


End file.
